I have my boyfriend's head on a platter. Not for any infraction, but because he's crouched inside a cube, sticking his head out of a hole on top, while the box's sides decked with paint and mirrors to resemble a table with nothing but air below. I stand at a place marked on the floor to get the right angle, and voila: I have a photo where his noggin appears to have met the wrong end of the guillotine.

The goofy image isn't particularly convincing—the "plate" has a too-big head hole, and shadows easily give away that the table's underside is mirrors—but it makes me laugh. Educational? Not particularly. But the setup marks one exhibit in the Museum of Illusions, opened in downtown Seattle in July. Heads-up (or off): the idea of museums may have changed since your last fifth grade field trip.

Museum of Illusions is far from the first spot to specialize in what Seattle general manager Krystal Casteneda calls "edutainment": a kind of interactive, or at least camera-ready, experience. She describes it as "blending entertainment and education with science and psychology." This is not even the first Museum of Illusions; since launching in Croatia in 2015, they've opened in 25 countries, and Seattle marks the 51st American one. Similar concepts abound, notably the Museum of Ice Cream—beloved by celebrities, it is basically a series of Instagram backdrops in confectionary colors, something the creator dubbed an "experium" (in this case making a portmanteau of 'experience' and 'museum').

It can be hard to square this tight cluster of photo ops with the usual idea of a museum: a stately building, probably with columns, with history's greatest art or history's oldest fossils presented tidily with informative plaques. They are among our most recognized public institutions; in 2023, the American Alliance of Museums reported that 28 percent of Americans had been to a museum in the past year. The history of the concept can be traced back to the ancient Greeks.

After 9pm on a Friday night, Museum of Illusions is mostly empty; we rarely wait to peer into a two-ended kaleidoscope or stand in a room whose floor is tilted just right so I, at five-foot-six, appear to tower over my six-three boyfriend. Staff line the whole passage of photo ops, even offering to take the camera themselves, and panels explain why our eye is being fooled...ish. The most informative panels go deeper on photo recommendations ("try a boomerang or slow-motion video") rather than an understanding of optical science.

I never manage to pick up much more than "perspective is a thing" and "mirrors are cool," usually peering around a corner to the next exhibit, hoping for a truly spectacular image. One stop recreates the Seattle Monorail, but upside down; the illusion is that, well, you look like you're upside down. The early height-skewing room was probably the highlight.

Some part of my culture snob core resists calling this a museum. The science feels more like a flimsy excuse than a foundation, and I feel like I'm on a selfie conveyor belt. But I'm reminded of the 2017 Seattle Art Museum blockbuster show Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors. Like many Seattleites, I stood in line to view, then more importantly document, the tiny rooms full of reflections. I'll admit, I posted.

Shortly after my Friday night visit to MoI at Fifth Avenue and Union, I ventured out in the middle of a weekday to see Seattle Art Museum's current eye-catcher, Poke in the Eye. A neon sculpture animates two figures provoking each other; another absurd piece reimagines a somber nineteenth century Christ image as a collection of clown dolls. For all the sober reflection on West Coast counterculture and self-definition through  juxtaposition, I found myself doing much the same things I did at Museum of Illusions: looking for something cool, snapping a photo.

"You know, the museum is no longer just a space for presenting beautiful paintings and sculptures," says José Carlos Diaz, SAM's deputy director for art. In its 91st year, the institution strives to also engage with community and, yes, be interactive. Poke in the Eye includes a series of telephones—the old kind, rotaries with the spiral cord—that play messages when patrons pick them up.

Some of the differences between SAM and the Museum of Illusions, or the digital Van Gogh events that came through in 2021, are simple. For-profit experiences tend to come with a hefty price tag; my Friday night adult admission to MoI was $32. Then again, it costs $30 to get into SAM—though the former is designed to be exhausted in 45 minutes or an hour, while the latter could eat up hours. Plus, SAM pricing is only suggested, and free admission is available through passes checked out from the library, monthly free First Thursdays, and various other programs.

But the differences can fall in MoI's favor, too. We popped in after a downtown dinner, on a whim after dinner in South Lake Union; Seattle Art Museum closes at 5pm and is shut two days a week. MoI's long hours capture the date market, for which it feels specifically suited (though this kind of icebreaker would either create cute first-date memories or excruciating first-date awkwardness).

For his part, Diaz isn't mad about Insta moments at museums. "I think it's fantastic." And he's not even mad about sharing a name with Museum of Illusions: "I think there's room for everyone," he says. "They're doing something completely different." He notes that SAM's incoming director, Scott Stulen, comes from the Philbrook Museum in Oklahoma, where he worked on boundary-crossing experiences like a miniature golf course and an internet cat festival. Diaz himself came to SAM from an institution that's no stranger to the concept of conspicuous self-images—the Andy Warhol Museum.

"I think in the future, we're probably going to see more and more acceptance, or even embracing of, new ways of presenting art," Diaz says. "Real works, but then also something very immersive and very emotional."